


when everybody wants you

by nightwideopen



Series: made in the am [2]
Category: One Direction (Band), Saturday Night Live
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Crossover, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Miscommunication, Pining, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-14 05:52:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5731795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightwideopen/pseuds/nightwideopen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em> Harry nearly faints on the spot. He got the job. He’s going to be on Saturday Night Live. </em>
</p><p>Three of Harry's dreams come true, then one of them falls apart.</p><p>or</p><p>the SNL au that no one asked for</p>
            </blockquote>





	when everybody wants you

**Author's Note:**

> third installment of the made in the a.m series: Infinity!
> 
> i was listening to this song trying to get some inspiration and it sort of just popped into my head like what if harry was in the city and missed the stars like i often do! and then it spiraled kind of out of control and i went too deep with it because i love SNL and would die to be a part of it and so i did a lot of research for this to make it as realistic as possible with the timelines and everything and i am living absolutely vicariously through this i wanna be on SNL so bad 
> 
> BUT ANYWAY
> 
> louis' timeline is loosely based on jimmy fallon's time on snl and harry's character is loosely based on jimmy background wise. just for reference.
> 
> title from Infinity, obviously. thanks to skye for constantly telling me to write towards the end of this because i got so lazy and discouraged.
> 
> enjoy! :)

Harry is absolutely piss drunk when he gets the phone call.

He almost doesn’t answer it, because it’s inside the house, and he’s on the back porch, staring at the dark lining of the woods. He’s working on his fourth cigarette, already finished with the bottle of wine that he bought to celebrate sarcastically, and he doesn’t want to get up.

Today is the cut-off for the next season, and he knows how badly his audition went. His voice was shaky, his impressions were off, he couldn’t remember his own fucking joke. He’s been doing standup for years, but he knew he couldn’t trust himself to get up in front of the man who can make or break his entire career path and do his best. He’s twenty-four, promised himself that if he didn’t get it by twenty-five that he’d go back to school and start with something practical. He doesn’t want to spend his life on stages all over the country; There’s only one stage he wants to be on, and it’s 246 miles away.

He answers the phone, though, and stumbles into the house. He trips over every piece of furniture on the way there. 

“Hello.” It’s a miserable, slurred drawl, and he doesn’t have time to apologise before the woman on the other end is asking for him by his full name with an air of professional urgency. “Yeah, that’s me. Wha’s this about?”

“I’m calling from NBC studios in New York City for Mr. Lorne Michaels to inform you that you should arrive for rehearsals at precisely 8AM this upcoming Monday. Your absence or tardiness will be inferred as a rejection of this opportunity. Please come in through the Rockefeller Plaza entrance. Someone will be waiting in the lobby by the elevators to take you up to Studio 8H. Have a nice night, Mr. Styles.”

“The Ro-” The line buzzes loudly, indicating that she’s hung up. “Okay. Wait. W– _fuck!_ ”

Harry nearly faints on the spot. He got the job. _He’s going to be on Saturday Night Live._

∞

Being born and raised upstate, never having left his small town in Syracuse, Harry has absolutely no knowledge of how New York City works outside of the one time he visited for his audition. That much is obvious when he steps off the train on Sunday afternoon, and into Penn Station. He nearly loses a leg getting up the escalator with his tiny rolling suitcase that has nothing but three shirts, two pairs of pants and his toothbrush inside of it. It’s a stroke of luck that he navigates his way through the 6PM crowd and finds the place where Niall had said to meet him. Several people who are obviously commuting home give him strange looks, as if his knobbly knees and wide brimmed hat scream that he’s an outsider. It’s 2002, he’d think that people would be less judgemental by now. 

“Hey! Styles, hey!” He spots Niall’s tall, blonde hair through the crowd of hat-donned passers by. “Took you long enough, I’m starving!”

“Of course you are,” Harry grumbles. He’s hungry too, irritated by the child kicking his seat for the entire train ride, sweaty from wearing three sweaters in the hot underground, and just about ready to cry because the day he’s been waiting for his whole life is less than 12 hours away.

He starts following Niall, up an escalator and out onto the city streets. It’s nothing like the last time he was here, dying with nerves, being shuffled about by his sister, walking too many city blocks with his head in his hands. He gets to look up and take it in this time, with every small step he takes. 

“There’s this real good burger place in Greenwich Village we can go to. Just a few stops away, if you’re up for it?”

“Niall.” Harry stops walking to look at him seriously. Several people bump into him and mumble comments to themselves. He can’t bring himself to care. “Do you mind if I just grab something to eat at your apartment? I want to just have a look around the city before everything gets all hectic.”

“Fair enough.” Niall turns a corner very suddenly, not even looking where he's going. Harry is both impressed and jealous. “I’m meeting up with some friends from the studio, though. Are you sure you don’t want to come? There’ll be some of the cast members as well, I think. Zayn is pretty close with them.” 

Niall is a novice cameraman for the show, had been the one that moved away years ago just to get close to the city and ended up landing a gig that Harry would forever be envious of– Until now.

“Cast members? Like, names-in-the-opening-credits cast members?” Niall nods. “I mean… The city’s not going anywhere, is it?”

“That’s the spirit!”

∞

Harry is nursing his first and only beer when Niall's friends start to show up. Zayn is the first, clapping Niall on the back and greeting Harry with a warm smile. Harry's first thought is that this man should not be _behind_ a camera. 

“Nice to meet you. Louis and Josh should be in soon they were right behind me.” 

“L-Louis?” Harry chokes on his tongue. “Louis Tomlinson? Jesus Christ, Niall said cast members but I didn't think– Really?”

Niall ruffles his hair and turns to Zayn. “Isn't it cute?”

“Adorable,” he agrees. “These are the guys you're gonna be working alongside, pal. Don't get too starstruck, you're equals now.”

Harry gets a little dizzy at that. “Don't– shut the hell up. I look up to these guys, we're hardly equals. Tomorrow is literally my first day.”

Zayn and Niall have a moment where they just look at each other. Then they shrug and call for the bartender simultaneously. It's slightly uncomfortable to watch, so Harry mumbles something about getting some air even though neither of them are listening.

“Should've never come here,” he grumbles as he throws the alleyway door open.

Much to Harry's luck, the door hits someone, and very hard at that. 

“Ouch, Christ.”

It's dark, but Harry launches himself at the stranger anyway. “Oh God, I'm so sorry. This is really- I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to do that.”

Just then, a second person pipes up. “Christ Lou, you alright? What the– are you bleeding?”

“L-Lou? Louis?” If it was physically possible for Harry's heart could drop out of his ass, it would, because right at that moment, the door swings open again and a flash of bright light reveals a split lipped and very disgruntled Louis Tomlinson. “ _Fuck_.”

He runs away to find a cab as quickly as humanly possible.

∞

Harry's first day at _SNL_ is probably the shortest day of his life. The entire eight hours is hectic beyond all reason. Firstly, Harry is shuffled into an office full of close to thirty people,  and without his knowledge of when everything is meant to start, ideas are being thrown out all  around him. There are people everywhere, on the floor, on the windowsills, all packed together, but huddled comfortably like a tight knit family. The room is overflowing, cast members and writers spilling well out of the door and into the hallway. Harry finds himself caught up in reveling in the closeness of it, and before he even has the chance to input any of his jokes or ideas, the meeting is over, and he’s being shuffled out. And the day is done.

He doesn’t remember how he manages to get back to Niall’s apartment. With his complete lack of knowledge when it comes to the subway system, he supposes he caught a cab. When he’s finally able to catch up with time, he finds himself in the guest room, staring out of the window at the dark city streets, feeling like he never left.

Niall arrives back about an hour after him, knocks on the door and presents him with a bottle of wine. “Hey there,” he sing-songs, “How was your first day?” He leaves the door open as he sits on Harry’s bed, letting unwanted light filter in.

“I can’t remember any of it.”

Niall scoffs. “Would be surprised if you did. That room is a nightmare. But every cast member says that on their first day, I’ve heard it about a dozen times.” He pops the bottle open. “Don’t worry, you’ve got tomorrow off. It's writing day, so you don't have to go to that. Wednesday is read-throughs, so you'll get more of a chance to talk to people.”

Niall throws him a wink, and Harry knows exactly what he's thinking. It makes him vaguely nauseous.

“You brought wine and no glasses?”

With that, Niall takes a huge swig from the bottle. “We're not celebrating.”

“Not sure I wanna be hungover.”

Niall laughs loudly, and Harry ends up drinking the entire bottle. Niall has to run to the corner store to get another one for himself, keeping it from Harry because he's already rambling about this isn't how he expected his first day to go and how his biggest inspiration and only motivation for the last four years hates him for hitting him with a door. He misses home and his family and the stars and before he knows it tears are slipping down his cheeks. Niall keeps the bottle out of his hands and holds Harry until his eyes are dry.

Harry falls asleep with an empty bottle of water hanging out if his mouth and wakes up with a full bladder and a dull ache in his neck. Niall is saying something about teaching him the subway, at the very least how to get to the studio and back. Harry ignores him and lets him keeps talking while he goes to the bathroom and makes coffee. He's talking about the difference between Brooklyn bound and Queens bound when Harry tunes back in. He's lost, so he tunes him back out while he downs as much coffee as he can in one go.

∞

He spends Tuesday decorating the guest room and decidedly _not_ moving in. He thanks Niall about six hundred times, to the point where Niall tells him to shut up. He promises to get his own place soon, and keeps all of his clothes in his suitcase. It isn’t much, and he needs to buy more clothes, but Niall shoves what he does have in a drawer while he’s in the bathroom.

His nerves are mostly gone, giving him a chance to realize just how lucky he’s gotten. He can see almost all the way down 7th Avenue, where it disappears into a single point. Niall told him the day before that that’s where Times Square is. Harry doesn’t believe him.

This is all he’s wanted for as long as he could remember. He feels like a walking fairy tale, and he falls asleep that night with a smile on his face.

∞

Wednesday morning finds Harry in a whirlwind of new information and his official introduction to Louis Tomlinson. There are about a million other things Harry would rather do, and dying is one of them. He’s groggy and rumpled everywhere, voice still crackly and coffee still almost completely full. It’s barely morning, and Niall yapping in his ear the entire subway ride has made him grumpier than usual. 

“Aren't you the kid that hit me with a door?” is the first thing Louis says.

Harry splutters, absolutely mortified. He’s still shaking Louis’ hand, so Louis can feel it when his grip tightens. He almost, _almost_ whimpers audibly.

“I’m really sorry about that.”

Louis shrugs, retracting his hand and picking up his script off the snack table. “No sweat. Just wish you hadn’t run away, you missed all the fun. Plus, Niall kept whining about you. You guys grew up together?”

“Yeah.” Harry’s hyper aware of Louis watching him so intently and with so much care, as if he actually wants to hear what Harry has to say. He forgets about the crowded room, the people gathered around the long table for read-throughs. “He’s always loved being behind a camera, capturing things for the world to see. He used to film my stand up and do all these funny angles and close ups with his fancy camera.”

Louis looks vaguely disappointed. “Shame that you and him didn’t get here at the same time. We could’ve all been great friends.”

“All?”

“You and me and Niall and Liam and Zayn. The four of us always have such a great time together but we’ve always said we felt like we needed another person.” He’s smiling so brightly and Harry still can’t quite believe that any of this is real. “The most unlikely group.”

Harry laughs in spite of his nerves. “A real band of misfits.”

Louis snaps his fingers, face lighting up even further. “That exactly it!”

Maybe this really is all just an elaborate dream. Because there is definitely no way that Harry's inspiration is standing in front of him and asking him to join his friend group and he's absolutely not surrounded by his childhood heroes and the people he's been idolising for years. It can't be real, and Harry tries to pinch himself. Louis notices.

“You alright?”

Harry shakes his head, smiles to let Louis know he isn't serious. “I just really can't believe all this.”

Louis’ eyes soften dramatically. “You’ll get used to it… C’mon, I heard we have a skit together.”

And that alone is enough to make Harry’s entire body malfunction.

Fortunately, the read-throughs go off without a hitch, Harry nailing his lines and riskily adding in jokes of his own that he sees the writers scribble down enthusiastically. It makes his heart swell, seeing people like Tina Fey and Steve Higgins and Andrew Steele think that _he’s_ funny. In his first fucking week. He falls into step easily with all of the players and writers, and is praised by several people on his way out of the studio. As he steps out to an autumnal New York afternoon, he’s riding on the same high as he was the day of his audition.

“I think it’s going to be alright, Niall,” he says later.

Niall removes Harry’s head from his lap and onto the bed. They stare up at the stars that Harry stuck on the ceiling above his bed, pouring Pixi Sticks into their mouths intermittently. 

“Of course it’s going to be alright, stupid. Look at where you are.” He gestures vaguely. “You’ve made it. And you’re going to keep on kicking. You’re going to be one of those.” He’s high on the sugar, Harry can tell by the way he points at one of the stars.

Harry nods to himself. “I am.”

There’s a warmth inside of him as he says it, a bubble of contentment that feels almost impenetrable. 

_He’s living his dream. This is what happiness feels like._

∞

When he walks into the studio, it’s a Thursday morning and already a million times better than the stress that was Monday. The atmosphere is much cheerier, everyone already knowing what they’re going to be doing, where they have to be. He finds himself backstage surrounded by the cast that he’s only ever saw on through a screen and spoken to in passing at this point. He never thought he’d meet this cast, much less be a part of it.

He finds himself surrounded by familiar faces, Maya Rudolph and Jimmy Fallon and Tina Fey. In the midst of it all, he stumbles across Liam Payne, whose story inspires him to this day. Liam’s only just been added to the main cast after three years as a featured player, which is what Harry is now. Liam talks about the cast like they’re family, and Harry supposes they are. He says that Louis is annoying, the way he would a little brother, that Aiden is like a nervous bird whenever he’s not onstage, that Tina and Amy are like his unofficial mothers. Harry learns a lot in the time spent before they all have to disperse and prepare for their respective first sketches. He speaks to almost everyone in the room, letting them all know how they’re the reason he’s here, that he’s beyond honored to be working alongside them. 

He that he can feels Louis’ eyes on him the entire time, but he doesn’t get the chance to actually confront him about it. Not that he would; he’s still terrified because of what he did.

Through the course of rehearsal Harry sees that Louis is in almost every sketch and skit. Harry gets lucky enough to interact with him in one of the two sketches that he gets lines in, the other one being a silent part. Harry’s role isn’t a loud, screechy one like Louis’ signature one’s are. Harry’s bit is to mumble something, then proceed to let Louis shout in face while he tries not to break. 

He manages to keep a straight face all three times they run it, and he sees Niall give him a thumbs up from behind Camera 2. It makes Harry mildly queasy.

“That was quite impressive, newbie,” Louis offers during their costume change. Harry has more lines in the next sketch, but it's ages away. Louis is munching on a scone while the _Weekend Update_ desk is being wheeled out. Harry is both enamored and jealous. “Most people crack up when I get to yell like that. What were you thinking about?”

Harry watches Louis’ suck on his fingers. He’s not okay. “Losing all of this.” He doesn’t even know what he’s saying.

It's true, and Louis must be able to tell by the look on Harry's face. He couldn't risk breaking in the middle of his first sketch on his first real day on the stage that he's been dreaming about for his entire life. He doesn't think Lorne would find that very professional. He doesn't say any of this. 

Louis abruptly stops chewing and shuffles over to Harry, into his personal space. Someone calls for him out in the hall, but he ignores it.

“You shouldn't do that,” he says seriously. “I know you're scared because you're new and I know it's a lot to process–” his name is called again, “But you can't think of sad shit while you're in the happiest place on Earth. This was your dream, right? Don't let the fear of losing it keep your from enjoying it. I learned that the hard way, we all did.”

“I think– They need you, Louis.”

“Relax,” he shuts the previously open door, “Look, we're comedians. It's our jobs to make people laugh. We're allowed to laugh too, right? Plus, if I get you to crack a smile during a sketch, it means I'm doing to my job right.” Louis’ hands have found themselves on Harry's shoulders, the sincere look in his eyes making Harry's stomach flutter embarrassingly. “And who knows, maybe one day you can get me to laugh up there. The audience loves it anyway, and that's our goal at the end of the day. Make ‘em laugh.”

He's gone with a wink and flourish, leaving Harry inspired, comforted, and slightly turned on. It's an interesting development.

∞

Friday is a disaster.

Harry wakes up fully aware of what day it is and what the following day is. The moment he steps into the studio, he vomits twice into one of the large garbage cans they have backstage. The crew sends him away from the set, lest he ruin the building process. That can’t happen, as there’s only one day left before the show. When he refuses, Ben, the director himself, sternly shoos him away from the set. Sad eyes from Zayn and Niall follow him out, which makes him more nauseous to the point where he has to find a bathroom immediately.

He spends the better part of what feels like an hour inside a bathroom stall, leaning over a toilet, reading his lines over and over – even though everyone's told him not to – until he hears the door open. Someone knocks on his stall, making him nervous at having to respond. He wretches loudly into the toilet in lieu of one.

“Harry?” His luck, it’s Louis. “Are you alright? Can you open the door?”

He groans, crumpling his script in his clammy hand. “It’s fine. Please go.” 

Louis hums a disagreement. “I’ve got some pills, some food and water. And I’m not going anywhere, so please open the door.”

Harry actually tears up at that, a mixture of embarrassment and gratitude. He clicks the lock back and lets the door swing open.

Louis drops to the floor beside him, placing the promised water bottle down in between them.

“You didn’t have to–” Harry whimpers, his stomach contracting but turning up empty. “Thank you. I- This has never happened before, I don’t know why I’m so nervous. This is what I always dreamed of yet today I can’t stomach the thought of getting up on that stage.”

Louis reaches out to him, hesitates before resting a hand on Harry’s back. He then hands Harry the bagel.

Harry shakes his head. “I’ll just puke it back up.”

Louis shakes his head back at him mockingly. “That’s what these are for.” He smiles softly, reaching into his pocket and turning up with two pale pink tablets resting in his palm. “These have worked wonders on all of our stage fright; magic if I’ve ever seen it.”

Ever the comedian, Harry asks, “How do I know you’re not going to roofie me?”

Louis just rolls his eyes and pops one of the pills into his own mouth and swallowing it. He makes a big show of moving his tongue out of the way and proving that it is, in fact, gone. Harry wants to kiss him.

He replaces the pill with another one from his pocket like a Scrabble piece.

“Fine.”

It takes Harry twenty minutes to eat the bagel coupled with the water, Louis making him take the pills right after he’s finished. 

The only thing that Harry can think about the entire time is Louis’ hand on his shoulder. Louis didn’t have to do this, didn’t have to be the one that checked on him and offer him a solution. And maybe he was sent in by someone, but he still didn’t have to come in and actually _do_ it. Harry is beyond grateful, and has never wanted to kiss someone in a platonic way so badly. Platonic quickly turns into romantic and Harry suddenly wants to marry Louis for being the only person that’s been easing his nerves lately.

“Thank you,” he croaks.

Louis looks confused. “It’s no problem. It’s what we do around here. You’re part of the family now, we’re gonna look after you, kid.”

Harry pouts, then pulls Louis into his arms for a hug. He can feel Louis hesitate to reciprocate, but eventually tighten his arms around him.

“Thanks, Louis. Really. I don't know what I'm doing around here. I'm so scared I'm gonna fuck it up.”

Louis chuckles and pulls back just far enough to look Harry in the eye, leaving his arms on his shoulders. 

“Harry, I was in your place not too long ago, remember? You're not gonna fuck up, so don’t worry. You're here for a reason, you're here because you're good enough and I promise you you're going to look back on this one day and day, ‘Wow, that creep was right. I wonder what he's up to now.’"

That alone makes Harry sad. “I hope you stick around long enough for me to thank you for it. Because I'll never forget this or you. You're the reason I'm here.”

Louis smiles bashfully. “Is that so?”

Harry nods and is suddenly aware of how close their faces are and how his crush has developed from a TV personality to a friend. 

“Well,” Louis stands up, pulling Harry with him, “I hope those pills have worked, because we've got some lines to forget and some blocking to do.”

He takes Harry's hand in his, leaving this entire situation completely ambiguous. 

Harry hopes it's mutual.

∞

On Saturday morning, Harry has no idea where he is. Once he figures it out, his heart palpitates. Today’s the day, then, the day that his whole life as led up to. It feels quite uneventful as he turns to his digital clock just like he does every morning. Louis’ voice is echoing in his head telling him not to worry, 7AM shining back at him. He has to be at the studio in an hour to start getting ready for dress rehearsal. He’s been told (by Will Ferrell himself) that dress feels real enough that it dissipates a good amount of pre-show nerves, but it feels like nothing is going to successfully trick his brain to make him less queasy. 

Niall is quiet on the subway ride, rubbing Harry’s back comfortingly and letting him read the short text messages from his family and hometown friends. They’re all good luck wishes, smartly telling him to break a leg, and sentiments of pride. His heart feels about ready to burst with all the praise and the resulting pride in himself. It continues when he arrives at the studio, the veterans and crew offering breadcrumbs of advice and encouragement. 

Each of the stage hands give him a brief run down for their corner of the stage. Sandy, the left backstage manager, gives him a pro-tip on which corner he can sit in to watch the show with a perfect view but out of sight of their stage manager, Paul.

It’s all got him floating on cloud nine until he finds Perrie crying in a corner, dressed for the opening sketch. It’s puts a blip in his mood, to see a fellow cast mate crying. She’s almost as new as him, but he recognizes her from last season even though she’s technically still a newbie by the rest of the casts’ standards. And it’s obvious she’s not as confident in today as Harry is, and it starts to rub off on him the more he stands and watches instead of comforting her. So he does that.

“Hey, why are you crying? What’s wrong?” He crouches down beside her, brushing her blonde hair back and letting her fall into his arms. “It’s alright, just talk to me.”

“I’m so n- _nervous_. I shouldn’t be and I’ve done this before but I’m so terrified that I’m gonna mess up and–”

“Alright. Listen, breathe, it’s going to be fine.” The steadiness in his voice surprises himself. “I’ve seen you up there, through the TV and in person, and you can do this show in your sleep. You were so incredible last season and everyone talked about the ‘really good new girl.’ I’m sure you’ve heard it.” She nods. “And I guarantee that after this season that you’re gonna be a permanent player. Guaranteed. Just do what you’ve been doing because it’s been incredible and you’ll do great and everyone will love you.”

Perrie pulls back and wipes her eyes determinedly. “Thanks, Harry.”

“Think of the fans!” he cries sarcastically.

They laugh together as Perrie collects herself. And once she does, she pulls Harry along to makeup (“Thank God I didn’t get mine done yet, Lou would’ve murdered me.”) so he can get prepared as well as meet the team.

“Wow, Louis wasn’t lying,” a silver-haired girl comments offhand. 

She obviously hadn’t intended for Harry to hear because her eyes widen when Harry asks, “Wasn’t lying about what?” And it’s awful embarrassing how he perked up at the sound of Louis’ name.

Perrie smacks the girl. “Lottie, shut it.” She smiles fakely at Harry. “Louis’ sister, as you may or may not be able to tell. Ignore her.”

On the contrary, Harry slides into her chair, probably not subtle at all with his mentioning Louis multiple times during the course of his makeup being done. Lottie answers his questions seamlessly, smirking all the while because she’s obviously picked up on his crush. Harry doesn’t even have the decency to be bashful about it because he’s long stopped caring since his own sister had taken to teasing him about it. It can probably be seen from space. 

In the midst of their conversation, recently made primary player, Cher, sits in the chair beside Harry and gets her makeup done my Lou, whose 4 year old daughter Harry has taken an immediate liking to. He loves kids. They love him back.

“Ah, there he is, the famous Harry Styles.” 

Just as Cher says it, Tina walks in and drops both hands on his shoulders as she looks at him in the mirror. Lottie is working on his forehead now. 

“You know him?”

Tina scoffs. “Know him? This angel face,” she pinches his cheeks, “Is my _son_.”

Harry mouths at Cher, _This is news to me._

Tina sees him in the mirror and promptly leaves.

“Nice to finally meet you, though I seem to be the last one.”

Harry grimaces at himself, feeling extremely bad. He always, _almost_ gets around to everyone, makes sure to. He’s looked up to Cher anyhow, what with her being the youngest female to ever make the cast; he could’ve tried harder.

“I’m really sorry about that, it’s so hectic ar– You know that. I’m not making excuses, because I actually look up to you… and you kind of intimidate me. I’ve been watching you for years.”

“No exaggeration?”

Harry shakes his head.

She shrugs. “Then I guess it’s alright. We’ll probably be forced to see a lot of each other soon enough.”

That’s enough to make Harry feel like they’re even. But by the time dress rehearsal is actually set to begin, Harry has long forgotten their conversation and all of the comforting words he’s heard and said today. And he’s about ready to shit his pants. Except he isn’t wearing pants. He’s in an astronaut costume which he doesn’t even need until the third skit, which is after a significant number of stuff.

Harry sits through the opener in the corner that Sandy had offered him, nursing a cup of tea that goes cold before he even take a sip. By the end of the monologue, he’s nearly chewed a hole through his cheek, the taste of actual blood in his mouth. The first commercial break is to be preceded by a fake ad that actually calms his nerves. They always have. Louis is in the first sketch right after that, playing his most famous role as Tina and Amy’s genius, teenage son. Harry spends the entire five minutes ogling at Louis in the the glasses and khakis, just as he always has at home. His skin starts to itch underneath the costume at the reminder that he _knows_ Louis now, and he realizes that he should not have left it on this long.

The set is changed quickly for the next skit, which neither Louis nor Harry are in. Louis finds him, in his own astronaut suit, and bumps Harry’s shoulder when he sits down, cross-legged, beside him on the cold backstage floor. Harry’s whole body tingle.

“How’s it looking from here? You’ve got the best seat in the house. I might have to join you regularly.”

“I’d be okay with that.”

The second skit zooms by because Harry is distracted by Louis’ knee and shoulder pressed against his own. Louis reaches out a hand for him when it’s time to go, and a ridiculous amount of butterflies erupts in Harry’s stomach. It’s a result of Louis’ hand in his and the fact that his live TV debut as an _SNL_ cast member is in a little over twelve hours. He might actually vomit everywhere.

Louis notices. There’s no way he can’t what with the way Harry is dragging his feet as they round the corner and the spaceship set comes into a full front view. His hand grips Harry’s minutely  tighter, and he’s smiling at Harry so, so gently. Harry can’t help but walk a little taller, square his shoulders and determinedly want to do his best. To make everyone proud. To make Louis proud.

And from the moment that Lorne signals the sketch to start, Harry feels bigger and more confident than he ever has in his life. He feels on top of the world, his world at least, because he’s in the place he’s wanted to be for as long as he could understand what this was. He’s here, and he’s good enough, doing what countless people told him was far-fetched and impractical, out of the realm of possibility for him. But he proved them wrong, his hard work has paid off, and now he’s working alongside his inspiration, his actual celebrity crush.

It’s over soon enough, too soon if Harry has anything to say about it. But he gets to do it all again tonight, live on TV for the whole world to see.

He walks to back to wardrobe in sort of a trance. Harry, Louis, and Liam’s shared costume designer, Caroline is waiting for him when he gets there with a smile on her face. 

“You looked great up there, if I do say so myself.”

Harry chances a look at the TV screen in the small room, sees the set being wheeled away for now. He smiles.

“Felt great, if I do say so _my_ self.”

Louis stumbles into the room, costume still completely on, helmet and all. “Hey!”

“What do you want, Lou? I’m busy praising our newest addition on a wonderful first dress performance.”

He rolls his eyes, taking another step forward but tripping over it. “I’d like my suit for _Update_ , thank you. I only have a few minutes.” 

“You have at least fifteen minutes, pal, it can wait.” 

He huffs and slides past Harry, mumbling, “I’ll find it myself.”

“Are you jealous that I’ not coddling you for a job well done? You know how fabulous you are, b– C’mere, I’m sure Harry won’t mind.” 

Caroline pulls Louis into her motherly arms (she’s five months pregnant). He pulls a pouty face at Harry, but all three of them know that he’s enjoying the attention. It’s ridiculously endearing to see him like this, all soft and cuddly, wanting to be loved. Harry wonders where he can buy bleach to cleanse his body and mind of the horribly cute and domestic things he’s picturing. 

“Alright,” she releases Louis, “We’ve got to get Harry changed for his sketch– which is _next_ , Lou, stop pouting– then I’ll find your suit.” 

Louis pouts for the entire thirty seconds that it takes for Harry to put on a flannel shirt, ripped jeans and a red wig. It's a record time clothing change for Harry but must feel like a lifetime to Louis.

His second sketch goes by much more monotonously but he still feels as light as ever even though he's just standing there for most of it and has one line. 

A recording of the first song that the musical guest is singing tonight starts playing overhead as soon as Harry gets back to wardrobe. It’s a signal that Louis has less than five minutes to make his way to set since dress is void of real commercials or the sake of saving time so that the producers and writers can make necessary changes and cuts for time management reasons.

Harry hears a shout of “Tommo, let’s go!” from one of the stage managers in the hallway. He guesses it’s Jon. 

He rushes to get into his own costume because he would very much like to watch Louis in his snazzy maroon suit trying not to laugh at (mostly) his own jokes. The _Update_ music starts playing just after Harry nearly breaks his nose on one of the costume racks. Caroline just stands by and watches him struggle with his lab coat, because she knows fully just how much time Harry really has to change for his next sketch seeing as he _just_ had one and it’s literally his first show. It’s really mean, and very much the opposite of her job. He makes it on time, though, plopping happily into his newly designated corner.

“Good evening, I’m Louis Tomlinson, and here are tonight’s top stories.”

It goes flawlessly, as expected. It’s better in person, and it’s obvious (to Harry, anyway) how much he’s improved from the first episode of last season when he was the baby-faced and brand new _Weekend Update_ anchor. Harry is filled with a ridiculous sense of pride that he thinks only mothers have felt up until this very moment on this very day.

Louis finds him immediately afterwards, not bothering to rush to change even though he's starring in the next skit that's about three minutes away.

“How was it?” he asks breathlessly, grinning from ear to ear.

Harry pretends to brush dust off of Louis’ shoulders. “Perfect. Even better in person.”

“Bit surreal, isn't it? It still is to me, four years later, I can't imagine how you're feeling right now.” Louis makes an exasperated face. “Well, I mean, I _can_ since I _have_ , but. Right now–”

“Tomlinson,” a disgruntled looking Josh hurries up to the both of them, “You've got a minute and a half to change, please stop chatting.”

Louis looks vaguely disappointed, but mostly glowing. “One quick change, coming right up!” And he hurries off into the maze of hallways.

∞

Harry isn't entirely sure when he fell asleep. He'd had three sketches in a row, so it's understandable that he lost his head a bit. Besides being significantly confused and disoriented, there's someone on top of him. It's not a lot of weight, but it's dead weight, and no matter how many push ups Harry does in his spare time, he's a comedian and will forever be cursed with the inability to exert himself.

“Stop moving, I need to sleep before the show.” It's Louis. How in the– “Stop thinking, too. It's really loud. You're a loud thinker.”

“A loud– Get off of me, you weirdo.”

Louis relaxed his entire body and gets about six thousand pounds heavier. Harry wants to mind, he really does, but it's not everyday you wake up with your crush _literally_ crushing you back. Does that count as reciprocation? Harry decides to pretend that it does.

“No.”

Harry gives up arguing after that, falling back asleep with surprising ease. When he wakes up again, it's because someone is shaking him with important urgency. It's Sandy, and he looks rather tired, but eager in spite of it.

“Come on, newbie, one hour ‘til showtime. Time to see what we're all about back here.”

From them until showtime, Harry is shuffled around from room to room getting touched up and done up and dressed up. He finds out that four of his six sketches have been cut. He's disappointed, of course, but it's his first show and he was already lucky enough to be able to rehearse that many in the first place.

The cold open is over before he knows it, and he has to stay huddled backstage, alone, his hands shaking ridiculously as he hears his name announced in the opening credits. It's absolutely surreal, hearing his name said in the same voice as so many greats before him. He laughs to himself, realizing that the voiceover impression he used to do in his room as a kid was absolutely spot on.

He spaces out after that, working on autopilot until he's being thrusted on stage by Sandy. When he gets up there and looks back, he sees Zayn, Niall, and Sandy all shooting him encouraging thumbs ups. Louis comes up behind him, grinning at him through his clunky helmet. The studio audience cheers loudly at the sight of him.

Louis waves a dismissive hand at them. “Now that's just rude! Give it up for the newest member of our family, Mr. Harry Styles!”

The audience acquiesces, not applauding to the same caliber as they did for Louis, but Harry doesn't mind. Or, he doesn't have time to, at least, because out of the crowd he hears a familiar voice.

“That's my baby brother!”

Then he spots them; his mom, sister, and stepdad are all there, clapping ten times as enthusiastically as everyone around them. He can't help the smile that breaches his previously terrified expression. Although, he should be more terrified now because the pressure is _on_.

But he pulls it off, barely having to look at the cue cards. He cracks a small smile despite his best efforts, but the audience only laughs that much louder because of it. Two of the main cast members, Nick and Aiden Grimshaw (who Harry has been assured are _not_ related), both send him thumbs ups. Those seem to be plentiful around here, and Harry thinks he could get used to it.

And then the show is over and he's standing on stage surrounded by people that he'd only known through a screen just a week ago. Tina and Amy each sling an arm around his neck and waist, dragging him to the front for a wave and so that he can see his family giving him a standing ovation. He looks around the stage and sees Perrie and Nick, Jimmy and Seth, Maya and Cher all hugging and smiling and shooting him prideful glances. And once Tina and Amy release him, two hands grab his hips and drag him back behind the cast huddle. He's spun around and pulled into a hug by who he finds out to be Louis.

“Congrats on your first show, Styles.”

Harry hugs him back, fitting too well and– now is _not_ the time for these thoughts. He needs to thank his family once they're off air. Note to self.

“Congrats on your fourth first show, Tomlinson.”

“Oh, shut it." Louis lets go and squishes Harry's face between his hands. “This is about you. You're the one everyone's gonna be toasting to at the afterparty.”

“The aft– I get to go?”

“It's cast and crew, dipshit. You're a part of that, aren't you?”

He guesses he is, now. So he nods.

“When does it start?”

“It's already started.”

And once Louis waggles his eyebrows, Harry is done for.

∞

Two hours into the party, Harry is spectacularly wasted. He's drunk on margaritas and his first show and Louis, who hasn't left his side and hasn't stopped complimenting him all night. Louis is drunk as well, hanging off of Harry while Harry is hanging off of Louis and their faces have been much too close to be considered friendly. Louis drags him to the dance floor at some point, the lights periodically shining too bright in Harry’s tired, bleary eyes. But he lets himself be pulled along, lets Louis spin him around and lean back against Harry’s chest. Harry has to crouch and bend over awkwardly when Louis reaches an arm back and pulls Harry down by his neck to press his mouth to his ear.

“Dance with me.”

Sober Harry would start blushing, moving away and knowing that he can’t trust himself not to pop a boner in front of everyone. Drunk Harry doesn’t care, wouldn’t mind everyone seeing just how much he wants Louis in every sense. No one’s looking anyway, as happy and oblivious as himself and each other. 

Louis is everywhere, his hands in Harry's hair, his cologne in Harry's nose, his whole body swaying right before Harry's eyes. Harry tries his best not to close them, or even look away, but he doesn't succeed, having to tilt his head forward to bite at Louis’ shoulder through his t-shirt to muffle a moan.

Louis hears it though, keeps moving his hips against Harry roughly and answers back with one of his own. It happens right in Harry's ear and he doesn't think he's ever gotten this hard this quickly in his entire life. His dick might have whiplash.

“Harry,” Louis says it, rather breathily, but it's a statement. 

“Wh…?”

“C'mon. Don't wanna put on a show, now do we?”

Being dragged out into the cold is the last thing Harry wants. But it happens, and it feels like forever before they're stumbling over each other and into a cab, unable to keep their hands off. 

They fall into their first kiss and it's a sloppy one, with nothing behind it but pure lust. Harry is too drunk to revel in anything but the warmth of Louis’ mouth on his and Louis’ warm hand palming roughly at Harry through the front of his jeans.

Harry’s burning up.

His whole body feels like it’s on fire by the time he has the guts to straddle Louis’ waist like a horny teenager in the back of the cab. It’s strange, because this is how he pictured his life going, this fantasy never failed to slip into his mind every time he’d imagined living in New York City. He just never thought it would actually be with the person he’d been fantasizing about. 

“Calm down, Harry.” Louis is rubbing back from underneath his shirt soothingly. “We’re nearly there, keep it in your pants.”

Harry has a hard time staying still on Louis’ lap, their kiss growing gentler and much more like the thing Harry’s been longing for. He’s starting to sober up, becoming increasingly aware of what’s happening. 

“Sorry,” the gravelly quality of his voice would be embarrassing if Louis’ eyes didn’t flutter shut as he spoke, “Wanted this longer than you have.”

“Got me beat there, don’t you?”

Harry nods just as the cab pulls to a stop and Louis has to dislodge Harry from his comfortable seat to pay the driver. 

It's worth the wait, though, when Louis all but drags him onto the large couch in his living room as opposed to all the way to the bedroom. Harry finds out then that Louis is just as hungry for it as he is, wrists being pinned to the leather that's barely making a sound even under Louis’ harsh movements. He leans down to bite roughly at Harry's throat, his collarbones, eventually rucking up his shirt to suck a bruise to his stomach. Directly in the center of it. Harry's still much too intoxicated to appreciate the quirkiness of it, all he does is whimper and reach for the button on his jeans.

Louis diverts his attention from marking up Harry, then, slapping his hand away and doing it himself. He doesn't do anything after that, just lines up their hips and their mouths and puts all of his energy into grinding roughly into Harry.

It's enough because Harry's drunk, and because it's Louis. It's Louis whose finger he's been wrapped around since before they met, who could ask him to leave right now and he would even though at this point there's nothing on his mind but how badly he needs to come.

“So quiet,” Louis comments.

Harry groans lowly, has no idea what to say or what to do with his hands. He ends up pulling Louis in by the back of his neck and securing the other hand on one of Louis’ hips. The skin gives under his fingers even as he loses most of his cognition and squeezes as hard as he probably can. His ‘quiet’ whines and moans are going straight into Louis’ ear now.

Harry doesn't know why he gets so overwhelmingly horny when he's drunk, but here's exhibit A, where his pants aren't even off and all he's got is his coworker rutting against him more slowly by the second and he's about three seconds from shooting off.

“C'mon, Lou.” He gives up on his innocent grasp on Louis and gets his hands down the back of Louis’ pants, beneath his underwear, and pulls him down roughly against him and urging him on. “So close.”

“Lou?” is all Louis asks before tensing up on top of Harry. His head drops down into the hollow of Harry's throat, breathing heavily. “Fuck.”

Louis’ warm breath on his neck is what does it for him for some reason, and he promptly comes in his pants, more intensely than he probably should. He falls asleep straight after, his hands still resting on Louis’ ass in his jeans.

∞

Harry wakes up the next morning in a bathtub. It isn’t his, or Niall’s. It’s unfamiliar and the bathroom is very big and his back is aching and the light filtering through the window above the toilet is entirely _too_ bright. 

“Holy shit.”

He shifts his leg, finding out just how much his entire body feels like lead. His fly is wide open, and– Oh, right. That’s what happened last night.

Three shampoo bottles promptly fall on him. 

The bathroom door swings shortly thereafter, revealing a disheveled Louis in a crinkled, grey t-shirt that has blurry words on it.

“What the– What are you doing in… here?”

Harry rubs his eyes a little too hard. “Fuck if I know. I, uh– Wh-Where? I’m?” He might still be drunk.

“My apartment,” Louis says simply. “More specifically, my bathtub… Breakfast?”

Harry groans. “ _God_ , yes, please.”

Breakfast turns out to be toaster waffles even though Louis has a fridge full of food and a huge kitchen. It looks mostly untouched, which greatly disappoints Harry. He won’t stand for it. He insists on real waffles, topped with ice cream and fruit that makes his own mouth water. Louis’ eyes are saucer-sized when the food is set down in front of him.

“Oh my God. I don’t deserve this.”

Harry thinks about last night, when he thought the same thing for himself. He wonders if Louis remembers it the way he does, if at all. It worries him that Louis might not, because he wants to do this every morning. But he can’t if this is nothing to Louis. Which it probably is because they’ve realistically only known each other for just a week.

“As you can tell, Sunday’s are sort of a recovery day for us. Saturday night is like that ninety-nine percent of the time.”

Harry doesn’t really like the sound of that, and the memory of all the alcohol he ingested last night as well as in his lifetime makes him queasy.

“Not sure I could roll with that. I like to have my wits about me. Last night I got really swept up in the high of the show. I don’t regret any of it,” he quickly amends, trying to stress it even as Louis kind of ignores him in favor of his waffle, “But drinking isn’t really my thing.”

_It used to be_ , he wants to say. The day he got the call was almost a relapse. It was momentary, but he’s in a good place now, just a week later, and he knows he can’t fall back into his old habits lest he fuck this all up like he did everything else prior.

“That’s fine.” Louis is suddenly looking at him like he’s hanging onto every word even though his own words sound dismissive. “Maybe you can change me yet, Harry Styles.”

“But I like you just the way you are.”

He doesn’t mean to say it, but he can’t take it back. He doesn’t think he would want to. The words sort of swirl around in the air before Louis seemingly absorbs them into his smile.

“Well… thank you.”

Harry leaves after that, gathering his wallet and clothes, trying his best not to look so sex-rumpled for his Walk of Shame. He tries not to seem so disappointed at the way Louis shuffles him out so quickly. He barely gets to see the place aside from the bathroom and kitchen and what little he can remember of Louis’ room. The awkward doorway talk never comes, and so there’s no awkward doorway goodbye kiss. It’s a bit of a kick to his pining heart, and he knows that they’re still just friends and are going to stay that way although Louis might look to him for some benefits on occasion.

But Harry doesn’t want that. He wants the stupid after-sex cuddling and ridiculous feeding each other breakfast in bed, lounging around on their only day off. There’s a long list of things he longs for and meaningless, friendly sex isn’t one of them. He doesn’t know Louis well enough yet, so he figures he’ll have to keep his distance for now.

Niall wolf whistles when Harry walks through the door carrying his shoes. His shower is cold and disappointing, the waffle sitting heavily in his stomach, He doesn’t cry, refuses to, because he knows that until Harry tells Louis how he feels, what he wants from this, he won’t know so he’s not hurting him intentionally. But he doesn’t want to risk their friendship so soon, so he’s simply going to chalk this up to whatever Louis wants it to be for now.

He falls asleep hopeful that night, ready for the week and for this season. He’s ready for his life to start because this is where it starts: right here, today, in this city.

Harry falls asleep more optimistic than he’s ever been.

∞

_Two years later_

“I think this is gonna be my last season, H.”

They’re at Harry’s, his new apartment uptown that he never would’ve thought he’d ever be able to afford. The bed is rumpled innocently with sleep, because Louis stayed the night and for the first time ever it didn’t result in a quick, emotionless fuck. It’s given Harry hope, courage to tell Louis just how much he’s come to love him over the years.

“Wh-why? Are you sick of it?”

The thought of that makes Harry himself sick. He could never imagine being tired of the only thing he’s ever wanted to do. (But Louis is different, he knows that. He knows why Louis is here.) Especially now, because things are perfect and he doesn’t want them to change. Change leaves the possibility of things falling apart. But things might also get better. Plus, if Louis has been unhappy and he hasn’t noticed–

“There’ve been rumors floating around that Lorne wants me to take over _Late Night_. And I think I want to do it.” He fiddles with Harry’s hair, winding one of the spirals tightly around his finger. It’s something he’s never done while they were in bed before. “It’s not _too_ big a change. I mean, I’ll be in the same building, working with a few of the same people, talking to people and telling jokes and any of you can visit at any time. It’ll be just me, so it’ll be harder, obviously. But it’s a really big step up for me and I looked up to all those talk show hosts for forever and I really–” He huffs in frustration, out of words.

Harry shrugs against his chest, looking up at him and being met with the underside of his jaw. “If you think it’s what’s best for you, you should go for it. You don’t want, like, my blessing, do you?” He smirks.

He doesn’t have to look to know that Louis rolls his eyes.

“No, Mom, I don’t need your _blessing_. But it wouldn’t hurt if you were okay with it and encouraging.”

Harry nods importantly, grabbing one of Louis’ hands in both of his. He expects Louis to pull away like he always does, but he doesn’t. It’s a moment that Harry doesn’t take likely, but knows better than to comment on.

“I can do that,” he says. “As long as you’re happy.”

It’s another crumb, one of the dozens of small declaration of his love that Harry has dropped over the course of their quasi-platonic relationship. Louis must know that Harry is blindingly in love in with him. There’s no way he can’t see it when everyone else does. He wonders if people see the Louis looks at him, if it’s identical to the way _he_ looks at Louis. He wonders if everyone can see it but them, if Louis is as caught up in thinking it’s unrequited as he is.

Maybe Harry has seen too many movies.

They both sit a little closer in read-throughs that day, even though the weather is getting warmer. They’re probably being ridiculous, but it’s all unconscious. It’s the week of the penultimate show of the season, and now it might be their last two weeks working together. They’ll see each other, sure, but not this often nor at this proximity. 

By the end of the following week, Harry is convinced that his feelings are requited. He can’t sleep on that Friday night, trying to come up with a way to tell Louis. It’s nearly five years worth of crushing and pining and pain at hiding it and keeping their relationship at the level that Louis was comfortable with. 

He sticks by Louis' side even after the show, fingers in his belt loops and heart racing. It's not out of place, so Louis probably doesn't think much of it. And Harry's so caught up on his thoughts that doesn't notice where they are, Louis is saying something to him. 

“Harry? Are you listening?” His voice echoes in the empty room. “Are you going to the party?”

Harry nods, but then squeezes his eyes shut. “No, but–”

“Alright, I'm gonna go, then. I'll see you tomorrow, ‘kay?”

Harry realizes what's going to happen before it happens. “But Lou–”

“Later! I'll see you!”

Then he's gone, and Harry's heart is aching.

∞

Later, turns out to be nearly a year later. Harry had gone home over the summer, Louis as well, and all Harry had was Niall to talk to for two months.

“Did you see all the _Late Night_ promo?” They’re drinking cheap beer under the stars that Harry keeps trying to count because it’s their last few minutes before they go back to the city. “Your boy is a hit.”

“Not my boy,” Harry grumbles. “Wouldn’t let me tell him.”

“You–  _what?_ You never told him?”

“Why do you think I haven’t seen him since that night Why do you think I’ve been so miserable.”

Niall sighs, making Harry feel worse. Harry doesn’t want to think about it much less talk about it. 

“Harry!"

It’s his sister, from inside the house. “What?”

“Time to go!”

He taps Niall to pass along the message, even though he’s obviously heard. “C’mon.”

The car ride is agonizing, Gemma forcing both Niall and Harry to sit in the back with half of the luggage because she has a small car and the front seat reserved for her precious kitten. Harry sleeps in an attempt to ignore the strain on his knees. He wakes just when as the city comes into view in the distance. It’s obvious to him, then, just how much he’s missed it. The lights twinkle in place of the stars that are no longer visible.

They're halfway to Harry’s apartment when he sees it. They’re in Midtown, and there’s a small group of paparazzi huddled in front of a restaurant. It’s not out of place by any means but in the midst of the staccato flashes, he spots Louis, hand in hand with Zayn, kissing his lips intermittently. He’s dead silent, and Niall notices what he’s staring so intently at. The light turns green and Niall directs his attention away but it’s too late, he’s already seen. 

Louis has moved on, he’s got a new fuck buddy with his newfound fame.

To Harry, it feels like cheating. And as he mindlessly stumbles into his house that still has yet to feel like a home, he knows that it’s no one’s fault but his. It’s 3 A.M. and he still has a month before the show starts back up again and he’s lost. He can’t see Louis now, can’t be around him and pretend that nothing’s changed. Niall is going to have to go back to his own apartment eventually and anyone else from the show is busy, most likely. So Harry has his sister, and he spends the rest of the night decidedly not crying in her arms. 

Louis doesn’t find out that Harry is back in the city until they run into each other at the studios three months later when preparations for his first _Late Night_ show have begun. Louis gasps dramatically, hugging Harry tightly and reminding him that in Louis’ mind they’re still best friends who used to fuck on occasion.

“Where’ve you been?” He’s practically cornered Harry in the elevator. “I missed you.”

“Yeah, seems like it.” He can’t help the jealous, angry tone of his voice. He doesn’t want Louis to know.

“Woah, what’s wrong? You okay?”

Making eye contact with Louis while he’s got such a hurt, worried expression on his face in borderline painful.

“I’m fine.” The elevator dings for the sixth floor, and Louis has to get off. “See you around.”

“Yeah.”

Harry does cry. He won’t.

∞

Harry stays home on the day of Louis’ first show. He should be there, realistically, backstage or behind a camera and telling Louis that he’s doing great. But he suspects that Zayn's been called upon to work on _Late Night_ now, seeing as he's not been on set all season.

He watches it with Gemma that night, hugging a gallon of ice cream on the couch that he only ends up eating one spoonful of. He falls asleep there, wakes up with his eyes burning and under a blanket.

Harry doesn't go to the studio on Tuesdays, never has, but he does that day. He has a little trouble finding 6A, but he does. He stays incognito and sees Louis at his desk, writing furiously and looking entirely too miserable. He's about to go talk to him, apologize maybe, when Zayn promptly materializes out of nowhere and whispers something in Louis’ ear. Harry leaves as quickly as possible, makes his way upstairs where he can hear the writers talking and laughing and it reminds him of how much he wants to be in there. Their corner is untouched, the blanket fort still completely in tact. Harry sits in it, writing sketch ideas and jokes for what will hopefully be his new spot as a _Weekend Update_ anchor next season.

Read-throughs the next day are livelier than ever and the week goes by entirely too fast, moving at a million miles an hour and counting. He gets lost in distorted laughter and applause, muffled music and the sound of his own heart breaking when he hears someone mention Louis in passing.

“Yeah he's fucking the camera guy, didn't you hear? Malik. He left to go work on _Late Night_ with him.”

“Well he's an idiot, then. Everyone knows that Tommo doesn't date.”

“I feel bad for Styles, though, he's seriously in love with the guy and Tomlinson's too far up his own ass to see it. Doesn't have a chance now.” 

Harry can't help it that the tears spill over, that he rids his house of all of Louis’ stuff when he gets back that night. He snaps at Gemma one too many times, and she leaves so that he is well and truly alone.

Niall finds him sometime later, letting himself in. Harry's on the verge of blacking out from the alcohol, and he feels a bit ridiculous. Everything is going right, everything is perfect. This was his plan, if you take Louis out of the equation. He was never supposed to fall in love, not with someone who could so easily move on. Adding love to the picture made everything fall apart all at once. 

“You gotta snap out of, Harry. You can't let him do this to you. You're so much better than this, you know that.”

Harry falls into bed, his world spinning and he can't catch his breath.

He's woken the next morning by Niall slapping him in the face. He hasn't felt this out of it in years.

“You have to tell him.”

It's too much information too quickly and Harry is confused.

“You passed out from the booze and it's not going to happen again. You're going to tell Louis how you feel and live with his answer. You're not hopelessly pining over him for the rest of your life. Him and Zayn aren't even _together._ ”

Harry stands up and stumbled into Niall's arms, holding him as tight as jelly-like limbs will allow.

“I don't know how.”

“Figure it out.”

∞

Harry tells him on a Sunday.

It's not that immediate Sunday, because it takes him two weeks to get over himself and one more to build up his courage. He's seen Louis once since March, so when May rolls around and he invited Louis over, be can see why Louis is hesitant.

He gets Louis with no malice, no sound that he's angry because he isn't. He can't be. Louis didn't know, still doesn't. They never labeled their relationship; Louis was lonely.

“I'm sorry for how I acted last time I saw you. I was being a dick.

“It's okay, I was just confused.”

They're standing awkwardly in the entrance hall because they've forgotten how to be around each other. So Louis takes initiative and pulls Harry into his own home. He looks around and suddenly starts laughing.

“This place gets too clean when I'm not around, Styles. You're borderline OCD.”

“Don't fake diagnose me,” Harry pouts, “Real people suffer from that. I just get restless.”

Louis drops down on the couch, still holding Harry's hand and giving no signs of letting go even as he kicks off his shoes.

“So what's the occasion?” he asks once he spots the wine on the coffee table. “Or do you pull out the good wine for all your friendly reunions?”

Harry blushes, because this is the perfect segue. 

“I actually have something to tell you.”

Louis finally releases his hand then, reaching for the wine and pouring some as he shifts into a comfortable position. He curls up easily, pulling his knees to his chest and sipping from his glass innocently. Harry is so fucking in love with him.

“Well?” 

Harry’s palms promptly start to sweat.

“Well, um,” he clears his throat and, despite himself, dives right in. “Okay, so I've obviously known of you longer than you've known me. I looked up to you for the most part and meeting you was a dream come true. And then we became friends and we got closer and you started to see me how I'd seen you prior to meeting you. But like, I was always two steps too far in this and then we started having sex occasionally and it all got a bit messy and confusing and then I left and now you're busy and–” He says it all too fast and has to take a short breather. His pounding heart can barely keep up. “I've loved you, this whole time. And I still love you, and I think a part of me always will. And I've been wanting to tell you for a long time but I've been so scared and then I was jealous and you and Zayn then I heard people say you don't date and I just…” 

Harry doesn't know what else to say besides, “I love you, Lou.”

Louis looks entirely too caught off guard. It's worrying, makes Harry's heart feel like it's sweating, the way that Louis' mouth drops open and no sound comes out. 

“I guess you don't have to say anything but I just needed to tell you because everything was all fucked up when only one of us knew the truth and–”

Louis leans in to kiss him, probably to get him to stop talking. Harry catches him before he makes contact. It’s too cliché and it’s he just wants to avoid talking. He’s done this every time Harry’s wanted to have an actual conversation with him and maybe it’s his comedic nature to have a lack of ability to be serious but Harry won’t stand for it this time. Louis knows this time. Everything’s different.

“Wh–”

“No. You just want to shut me up and that’s not good enough. This isn’t a movie, or a book, this is real life and you have to say actual words to me otherwise I won’t know what you want to do about this. I love you and I don’t know how you feel about me and I won’t unless you tell me. If you want to leave, go ahead, but I'm not taking anything back.”

It suddenly hits Harry that he’s an adult and he almost laughs. Except this is a very serious situation and Louis is still staring at him with wide eyes and no words. Harry’s lungs must’ve shrunk in size. 

“Okay,” Louis says.

Harry sighs and stands up to walk away even though this is his own house. He thinks that Louis is going to let him when he’s already halfway out of the room.

But Louis all but mumbles, “I love you, too,” almost too quietly and Harry has to stop walking to make sure he heard right.

“I do love you and I don’t know for how long but I know that I do now and I– Not seeing you all this time was really bad and I missed you so fucking much.” Louis sounds absolutely pained and defeated to be admitting all of this, but he’s doing it anyway, so Harry has to sit back down. “I didn’t mean to drive you away. I didn't know. And if I had I never would’ve treated you the way I did.”

It's good enough, because it's pure, unplanned honestly and Harry lets Louis kiss him this time, short and sweet. It's better than the last couple of times, much better than the very first time because it _means_ something now. Louis’ hand is gentle in the curls behind his ear and gentle on his knee that's sticking out of his ripped jeans. Warmth radiates from the points of contact and Harry wonders if Louis’ heart feels lighter in his chest, like if it wasn't trapped in his rib cage it would just up and float away.

“Do you really mean it?”

“Every word, Harry. I really didn't know and I really wish I did because you've been the most important person to me since the first time I held your hand. I didn't think you'd ever feel the same, especially not after I'd been with Zayn.”

His voice is a whisper, their noses brushing and the moment too delicate for anything else.

“It's okay,” Harry whispers back before pressing another kiss to his lips. “We're here now, and that's enough for me.”

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments keep me alive and thriving
> 
> (also i apologize for louis' crack about OCD this takes place in 2002 and i feel like it was fitting for his character im sorry if i offended anyone)


End file.
